Don't Tell Me You'll Miss Me
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mr. Carson tells Mrs. Hughes that he's made the decision to leave Downton Abbey to work at Haxby Park for Lady Mary. Started out as a one-shot of his thoughts during and after that brief conversation, but will now continue beyond that evening. Story will go AU at some point. No S4 spoilers.
1. Very Much

**A/N 1: This scene in Season 2 where Mr. Carson tells Mrs. Hughes that he's decided to leave Downton to work at Haxby is one of my favorites out of all 3 seasons. So I had to write a story about it. I hope you enjoy it.**

**A/N 2: This story started out as a one-shot, but has grown in my mind as a continuing story (you can blame Mrs Dickens 713 for it). This chapter is the original one-shot, the only differences being this author's note and the fact that this chapter ends "To be continued" rather than "The End."**

Mrs. Hughes had known when she'd found Mr. Carson reflecting on the quality of the cellar at Downton that he'd made his mind up. She'd asked for confirmation, but he hadn't had to really say the words, for which he was thankful. Deciding to leave Downton had been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made. In time he would be able to think and speak of it without pain, but that time had not yet come.

"And just when we thought we were getting back to normal," she mused.

"Don't tell me you'll miss me," he said, in what he hoped was a lighthearted tone. The atmosphere felt heavy, and he hoped to lighten it by giving her an opening to tease him a little.

She didn't speak immediately, her eyes darting up to his and away again a few times before she finally held his gaze. "I will, Mr. Carson. Very much. And it costs me nothing to say it," she said softly.

He almost couldn't speak, he was so surprised. He was quite touched and after a moment he forced himself to respond, unwilling to let her kind words go unacknowledged. "Thank you," he said at last, trying to smile, though he felt rather gloomy. "That means a lot to me."

And there they stood looking at each other, both still and silent, until a loud noise from down the corridor broke the tension, and they left the room to make their way to the kitchen. They walked together, he a little behind, and neither of them spoke. He thought she seemed uneasy. He could see only part of her face, so he studied the set of her shoulders and the rhythm of her steps, but they told him nothing. He could never read her as well as she could him. Later, at dinner, he could see her better, but although she was preoccupied, she didn't appear to be ill or upset.

He invited Mrs. Hughes to have some sherry with him late that evening, but she turned him down, saying she was tired. She certainly looked tired, though he would never tell her so, and she seemed distracted, with that same uneasy expression he'd noticed before dinner.

He watched her back as she walked away from him, down the dim and deserted passage. She walked standing just as firm and straight as always, but her step was slower. He could tell, because though he didn't usually watch her when she left his pantry, he always listened. He could hear her heels clicking on the floor, the consistency of her pace always comforting to him. She turned her head slightly to one side and he knew she must have heard him, somehow caught him watching her without even seeing him, because she immediately quickened her pace and within seconds she was out of sight.

He wondered if her mind was troubled by thoughts of his leaving. Perhaps she would not be leaving her home as he would, but she would have to make adjustments with a new butler coming in, to establish a rhythm with someone else. After the chaos of the war, she would now have to manage the chaos of a new man coming in as head of household staff. It would take time and patience on her part. He had thought about this in regard to Haxby as well. He would be working with a new housekeeper, and new staff would be hired. It would be like starting with a blank slate, really, which could be both good and bad. Lady Mary would be in charge of hiring the housekeeper, of course, but she would accept, perhaps even request, his input.

He walked back into his pantry and poured himself a glass of sherry. Sitting down heavily, he wondered what it be like working without Mrs. Hughes. He worked with another housekeeper several months out of every year when the family went to London for the Season and at other times when the Crawleys opened Grantham House. He and Mrs. Winters got on well and she was perfectly competent, but she was no Mrs. Hughes. There were little things she didn't do _quite_ as efficiently as Mrs. Hughes. She also didn't share his taste for reading novels as Mrs. Hughes did, so they had less to talk about when they sat down for a cup of tea together from time to time. And there were countless other things about her that made little difference individually, but added up to his preference of one housekeeper over the other. He enjoyed London, but he couldn't think of a more welcome sight than her smiling face at Downton when he returned with the Crawleys. Several years ago, almost on a whim, he'd returned a day before the family. He did it on the pretense that he wanted to get the heavy cases back and unpacked before the family arrived, but he couldn't have explained the real reason, except that he had felt restless and impatient to return to Yorkshire. There was as much to do as ever once he'd gotten to Downton, but he and Mrs. Hughes had had an extra day to catch up, before the Crawleys once again descended on the Abbey. Ever since then, he'd made it his routine every year to return from London a day early. He had a quieter homecoming when he returned separately from the family and the other staff, and he preferred it that way. He went in through the back door without any fuss, and if he was lucky she was in her sitting room when he arrived. If not, he went and found her. She was a refreshing sight, always with a smile and a brisk welcome, and they fell back into their routine almost instantly, as though he'd never been away at all.

It might be possible to find another housekeeper as efficient as Mrs. Hughes and it might be possible to establish such a smooth working relationship with her, but what seemed less likely to him was that this other housekeeper would also become as good a friend to him as she was. He shook his head. In truth, he wouldn't want that. He didn't want to try to mold some poor woman into a second Mrs. Hughes. That would be a project doomed to failure from the beginning. No, he was moving to Haxby Park, not New York, and he would still see Mrs. Hughes occasionally. He had no desire to replace her.

Mr. Carson poured himself a second glass of sherry. It would be impossible to replace her, he knew, just as it would be impossible for Haxby Park ever to be as much of a home to him as Downton Abbey was. He would not have _her_ there, her tidy little figure swaying as she walked up and down the corridors, checking every bedroom, those ever-present keys jingling at her hip. She would not be there to scold him when he overworked himself or to take care of him when he was sick. If she would, he thought it might almost seem like home to him. He considered bringing this suggestion to Lady Mary for a fraction of a second, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. He regretted leaving Downton in need of a butler; he would not deprive the Crawleys of their housekeeper as well. But more than that, he knew Mrs. Hughes would never accept even if Lady Mary were to make such an offer. She was not devoted to Lady Mary as Mr. Carson was, and she did not like Sir Richard Carlisle at all. And even though her history there was not as long as his, Downton was still her home.

Mr. Carson set down his now-empty glass and frowned. It was past time for him to go to bed. He locked his pantry and headed up to the attics. His thoughts were so troubled he feared he wouldn't sleep very well tonight. As he slowly undressed, his thoughts returned to Mrs. Hughes. He wondered how often he might be able to see her once he went to Haxby. At Downton he was entitled to a half-day every fortnight, but he did not often take it. There always seemed to be so much to do. Additionally, he did not have any family outside of Downton, so there was nothing to draw him away, though Lord Grantham would have gladly allowed him to take time to visit friends if he had wanted to. Perhaps he should try to change that habit when he went to Haxby. His family was at Downton Abbey, and he would want to visit. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes would visit him as well, come have tea with him on her half-day. There would be no more evening chats over sherry or leftover wine, though, and he would miss them. They discussed the running of the house when they sat together like this, but they also shared tidbits of gossip, talked about books they had read, told stories, and simply enjoyed each other's company. In the evening she relaxed, her eyes softened, and she smiled more. She looked so lovely in the mellow light of evening and her voice charmed him. He found it fascinating that she seemed to have different ways of speaking for different situations, and he wondered if she knew that her Scottish accent was much more subdued when she spoke to the family than it was when she was downstairs, and that it grew much thicker when she was angry - speaking sternly to her maids, refusing to hand her store cupboard key over to Mrs. Patmore, and quarrelling with him. He loved to hear her speak, but her voice in the evening was the one he loved best. It was sweet and low in his ears, its lilting, skipping cadence singing a little melody like none he'd ever heard. And no matter which accent she was using, he loved the way she said his name.

As he climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over his body, it occurred to Mr. Carson that his deciding whether to go to Haxby or to stay at Downton came down to choosing between the two women he loved, Lady Mary Crawley and Elsie Hughes. Somehow the realization that he loved Mrs. Hughes did not shock him. He laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and felt only wonder. He'd given up thoughts of love and having his own family once he'd advanced beyond a certain level in service. He had known at some point that he would be a single man for the rest of his life. And yet here he was in love, at his age. He was not an old man, but he'd thought himself past the age of falling in love. Not because love was restricted to the young, but because the routine of his life didn't include the sort of activities he considered instrumental to falling in love: going to dances and fairs and socializing outside of Downton Abbey. He spent an odd hour here and there reading a novel at a local teashop, or enjoying some of the entertainments of the Metropolis, but for the most part Charles Carson worked and slept. He'd got it wrong by doing his socializing while working and then falling in love with a colleague. Well, he hadn't got anything _wrong_, exactly, for he hadn't been trying _not_ to fall in love. He simply hadn't expected it. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps he should have known the moment Elsie Hughes had walked in the back door of Downton Abbey for the first time that his heart would eventually belong to her. He had taken over as butler some years before her arrival as head housemaid, so he had made his decision years before that to curtail his personal life in favor of his work. She was an intelligent and attractive woman, but even if he had not sworn off romance himself, it became clear within a few months that Mrs. Hughes, still Elsie then, had similar ambitions. It was perhaps because of this similarity of purpose that they struck up an easy friendship. She was just the sort of servant Mr. Carson always approved of; she was not afraid of hard work and discipline, knew how and when to hold her tongue, and always seemed to be more aware of what was going on than anyone around her. She was a bit younger than he was, but they were of the same generation and had some interests in common, so they had naturally gravitated toward each other. The housekeeper had hired Elsie with a view toward training her own replacement, and although Mrs. Trent had stayed on another several years before handing over her keys, in that time Elsie proved herself as reliable and capable as her references had said she was. Mr. Carson had been well-satisfied to see her take her place beside him at the servants' dining table and in the sitting room down the corridor, knowing that she would be a great professional ally and friend.

And she was more valuable even than he had expected. Their leadership styles were complementary and they fit together so well that sometimes he wasn't sure where he ended and she began. She took care of her side of running the house, but she also watched out for him, very subtly at first, but more overtly as time passed. She wasn't always successful in her attempts to keep him well. He had stubbornly resisted her very insistent demands that he stop working so hard, and been rewarded by being confined to bed for several days after a very undignified collapse in the dining room.

As he had told Lady Mary when she first asked him to come to Haxby, it would be a wrench to leave Downton. It was not only because of Mrs. Hughes that this was so, but leaving her would be the hardest thing to bear. Still, he felt that Lady Mary needed him, and he would not fail her. It was never a matter of choosing which woman he loved best. That was something he could never do. That would be like deciding whether one loved one's wife or one's daughter more. The love for a wife and the love for a daughter were so very different that it seemed wrong even to compare the two. No, it was a matter of who needed him most. Mrs. Hughes could take care of herself and would carry on without him, but Lady Mary needed him, now probably more than ever. That's what he had to think of, rather than the two houses. Haxby would never compare to Downton in any way. The house was grand, but there would be nothing and no one in it, save Lady Mary, that compared to the things and people at Downton that would make it so hard to leave. He was sorry to have to make such a painful choice, without ever having had the joy of having his own wife or daughter. He had loved Lady Mary since she was a child, but his heart whispered that if he _were_ trying to choose the one he loved best, he would not be leaving Downton. However, he dismissed that as an unprofitable line of thought. He had made his decision, had told Lady Mary after dinner. What could he offer Mrs. Hughes, after all? And would she even want it, or him? He knew she cared about him, but he had no idea what her deeper feelings might be. No, he would leave Downton. He would regret it every minute of every day, but he would go.

_To be continued..._

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	2. At Breakfast

The next morning was torture for Mr. Carson. At breakfast Mrs. Hughes fixed his tea for him and buttered his toast, something he didn't think she had ever done before. He looked at her questioningly, but she just smiled, a soft, rueful, sympathetic smile, and he wondered how he could have looked at her every day for the last twenty years and only just now been stricken with the realization of what a beautiful person she was and that he loved her. He felt a fool, and knowing he would have to leave her left him lower than he could remember ever feeling. And yet he had to continue on as though nothing were amiss, as though the epiphany he had experienced the night before had never happened. The news that he was leaving Downton would get about soon enough, but the news that he loved Mrs. Hughes would never get about, for he would never tell a soul, not even her. What would be the point? If she returned his feelings, parting would be that much more painful for both of them. Even if she were willing to leave Downton and live a life of leisure as his wife, he could not think that Lady Mary would find the idea of a married butler quite proper. And if Mrs. Hughes did not love him in return, telling her would only make their parting more awkward. Perhaps she would not even come take tea with him at Haxby, or invite him to Downton for tea on his half-day. He would then have lost her friendship in hopes of something that probably could never happen anyway. There was no solution for this problem. He would love her in silence and perhaps going to Haxby, away from her, would eventually ease the ache. Mr. Carson felt very deeply the irony of this terrible timing. If he had known just a few days earlier that he loved Mrs. Hughes, he would not have agreed to leave Downton, but it was his decision to leave that had brought on his realization. His loyalty to Lady Mary could not have drawn him away from Mrs. Hughes once he knew his own heart, even if he never told her, never loved her openly, but once he had given his word to Lady Mary he could not go back on it. It was still true that, of the two, the younger woman needed him more, especially if she were to be the wife of Sir Richard Carlisle, so he could take some comfort in the fact that he would likely be doing some good in his favorite's life. Mr. Carson could not like the man, and he worried for Lady Mary's happiness, and even occasionally her safety. He had a sense that there was a threatening, coercive element to Sir Richard's character and he feared he might have to protect Lady Mary from this hidden menace. It was not a pleasant thought.

Pleasant thoughts were reserved for the woman who sat to his right at every meal. He tried to be discreet, but his eyes kept returning to her. She was talking to Mr. Bates now, and she smiled at something he said before turning back to Mr. Carson.

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Carson?" she asked, her brow puckering with concern.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you, Mrs. Hughes," he answered briskly, picking up a piece of the toast that lay untouched on his plate. "I've a lot on my mind; that's all."

"And no wonder," Mrs. Hughes said in a low tone. "You'll be leaving the place you've called home for many years. That will take some getting used to."

Mr. Carson scrutinized her face as she looked into his. "Indeed, it will," he answered gravely. It would take them both some time to get used to his departure from Downton. They were friends, good friends, and friends miss each other when they are parted.

Mrs. Hughes smiled reassuringly, if a little sadly. "But we _will_ get used to it," she said firmly.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. But Mrs. Hughes," he began.

"Yes, Mr. Carson?"

He spoke in a low voice to keep the others from hearing. "I know you've not much time to yourself, but I hope you'll take tea with me, when you've an afternoon to spare."

"Certainly, I will," she answered. "I'm glad Downton is not so very far from..." She looked around for eavesdroppers and discovered that Miss O'Brien was shamelessly staring at her, listening to every word she said. She turned to Mr. Carson and a knowing look passed between them. Mr. Carson seemed to come to a decision.

"Right," he said decisively. No need to put it off any longer, and better to come out with it to everyone than let it become a trickle of gossip, a story that changed from one telling to the next. There was no knowing how it could end up. In any case, he didn't wish Miss O'Brien to be the first to know. Mr. Carson cleared his throat and the staff at the table quieted. "You all should know that Sir Richard Carlisle has offered me employment as butler at Haxby Park, whenever he and Lady Mary are married, and that I have accepted this offer. I will be leaving Downton at some time in the future, but I prefer not to discuss the matter any further at present." He gestured toward the food on the table. "Please continue."

This news certainly gave the other servants something to talk about, but Mr. Carson's request not to discuss the matter kept their chatter at a moderate volume as they returned to their breakfasts.

"I was going to say that I'm glad Downton is not so very far from Haxby, but I'll go no further if you prefer not to discuss it," Mrs. Hughes said.

"I don't object to _your_ bringing up the subject, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "And I agree. I'm glad I won't be losing my friend entirely when I leave Downton, though it will never be the same as it is now." He sighed heavily.

Mrs. Hughes's left hand itched to touch him in some comforting way, just to brush his hand or pat his shoulder. He was sad to be leaving Downton, of course, and she was just as sad to see him go, but he looked so terribly forlorn, and there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. With time it would pass, or at least soften, but nothing she could say at this moment would help. He was responsible for his own fate and he knew it.

Mr. Carson sipped his tea quietly, deep in thought. He would let himself wallow in his own misery, a luxury he had not allowed himself for decades, until the end of breakfast and then have done and move on. No good could come from dwelling for long on these gloomy thoughts and even had he been inclined to barricade himself in his pantry to ponder all he had lost during his time on this earth, he considered serving the Crawleys with professionalism to be more important than time spent moping about his own troubles. His personal feelings had to take second place to his work, which was why he could allow himself one melancholy breakfast and no more. He only hoped his brown study wouldn't draw comment from the other staff. Mrs. Patmore would certainly have some unexpected proverb for him to ponder, and Thomas (he still found it difficult to refer to the man as Sgt. Barrow) and O'Brien would likely slink away for a smoke and to hatch some trouble-making scheme. Mrs. Hughes he could not be sure of. He wasn't certain how much of his mood had caught her attention. She didn't miss much, and he didn't want to worry her. He knew she worried about him, and it warmed his heart to know that she cared, even if she often voiced her worry in teasing and light reproofs.

Mrs. Hughes had certainly noticed how little himself Mr. Carson was today. Glancing at him occasionally, she decided she had better keep an eye on him today. He had every reason to feel ill at ease, but she didn't like to see it, and she hoped she might be able to soothe him, and to see him gradually becoming more himself. In truth, she was a little perplexed by his mood. The evening before, when he told her that he was leaving, she would not have described him as happy. He'd said very plainly that he'd made the decision "with a heavy heart." But he had hardly been under the fog of melancholy that seemed to grip him now. _She_ was the one who had had to slip away to her room as early as possible to stare into the darkness and try to decide how to feel. She loved him, and it was a definite blow to find out that he would be going, but she did not dissolve into floods of tears the moment her bedroom door was closed. Though she felt disquieted and miserable, she didn't shed any tears at all until she had been alone for some time. She had known of Sir Richard's offer and known that Mr. Carson might accept it, but that hadn't made it easier to learn of his final decision. Mrs. Hughes was no less heartsore this morning than she had been last night, but she had had her time to let the news sink in, and her accustomed composure had returned. She had been surprised to see Mr. Carson looking so melancholy this morning, but she doubted he had allowed himself the luxury of a few tears before falling asleep. He was always so careful to hold his emotions in check. And to be fair, she must make allowances for his grief being different from hers. Her sorrow was due to love, the deepest and most personal kind of love, but which she felt for one person only. Mr. Carson would not be leaving that kind of love behind at Downton, but he was leaving behind a great many loves of a different sort - the Crawley family as a whole and its individual members, his own history as part of this household, and to a lesser extent the staff. No doubt he wouldn't give a second thought to the loss of Thomas and Miss O'Brien from his life, but there were those he did care about, which she knew included herself. She had briefly thought herself mad for telling him that she would miss him a great deal, but in the end she could not regret it. She had known that it might be the last chance she had to tell him that she regarded him highly. They had few opportunities to speak alone and uninterrupted, and his half-jest had given her what might be her only opening for such frankness. Telling him she loved him would certainly never do, but she didn't want him to go without being assured of her respect and, more importantly, her friendship.

Bells began to ring and the servants' hall was soon empty. Mrs. Hughes went to her sitting room to sort out her accounts, and then to the kitchen for a surprisingly peaceful conversation with Mrs. Patmore. The cook seemed subdued, affected by Mr. Carson's announcement.

"It won't be the same without him," she mused.

"Certainly not. It never could be," Mrs. Hughes replied softly, her eyes dry. She was starting to feel numb now, and she couldn't decide if that was good or bad. Perhaps it was a good thing now, but at some point she must begin to feel again. Sometimes the love she felt was excruciatingly painful, but she would not give it up for anything. For every moment of distress, there was a moment of complete happiness, when she was beside him at the table, when they spoke in whispers in a doorway, and especially when they were alone, talking about troublesome staff or the latest book one or the other of them had read.

"Mrs. Hughes? Are you quite well?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

"Perfectly," Mrs. Hughes answered. "Just woolgathering, I suppose. Well, I must be getting on."

Mrs. Patmore nodded. "And so must I."

Mrs. Hughes quietly left the kitchen and returned to her sitting room.

_To be continued..._

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	3. Could Never Replace You

**Thank you all for your reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Mrs. Hughes was at Mr. Carson's side as the family, staff, and soldiers stood in silence, listening to Lord Grantham speak. The war was over. A terrible war, fought over nothing, really, that had taken William's life, Captain Crawley's chance at a full life, and devastated so many families all over Europe, was finally at an end. The clock chimed eleven times. Lord Grantham spoke again briefly, before everyone departed. Mrs. Hughes turned to speak to Mr. Carson, but he had made his way to the earl and the two men stood side-by-side just outside the front door. She moved a little closer so she could stand in the shadows and hear what they were saying - she could not help herself.

"I thought that was very dignified, very calming," Mr. Carson said. "Thank you, milord."

"I don't suppose you're having any doubts about leaving," Lord Grantham asked. His tone was not hopeful. There was a pause. Mrs. Hughes held her breath.

"I'm afraid not, milord," he answered, in that beautiful, sonorous voice. Mrs. Hughes could not stop the tears that sprang to her eyes.

"Well, I can't say I'm not sorry," the Earl said regretfully.

"I won't go until we've found a proper replacement," Mr. Carson said.

Lord Grantham took a deep breath and let it out. "Whoever we find won't replace you."

Mrs. Hughes could listen no longer and hurried away. She tried to wipe her tears away discreetly, but new ones kept falling. She stepped into an unused room to try and compose herself. Red eyes she could explain away with half-truths about the emotions evoked by the morning's ceremony, but she could hardly do her job while openly weeping. Mrs. Hughes agreed very heartily with Lord Grantham, although for different reasons. No one could possibly replace Mr. Carson, at Downton Abbey or in her heart.

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Love, Mr. Carson decided, did not agree with him. Love was supposed to be a happy, pleasant thing, but what he felt now was distinctly _un_pleasant. Even taking into account the knowledge that he could never have her, he thought it unfair that God or fate or whoever decided these things was not allowing him even a trace of transitory happiness. He had not seen Mrs. Hughes since the ceremony, but he had thought of her incessantly. He felt as though he had a large stone lodged in his stomach and he was uncharacteristically fidgety. Years of practice kept these strange feelings from being obvious to those around him, but no amount of practice gave him the ability to simply will away all of the odd sensations he was experiencing within himself. The most unsettling part of all was that he heard her voice everywhere he went. When he went to the library in answer to the bell, he thought he heard her in the corridor, but when he left the room he found only two maids in quiet conversation as they swept the stairs. When he walked the corridors, he paused at a great many doors when he thought he heard her inside, only to realize that the person speaking not only was not Mrs. Hughes, but sounded nothing like her. It seemed that his subconscious mind was constantly in search of her. His conscious mind, however, was not so sure. He wanted to see her, yes, to hear her, and to be close to her, but at the same time he feared her. Perhaps it was more that he feared himself when she was near him. He liked things to be done properly, which meant being in full control of his staff and, naturally, of himself. He had never in his life feared that his own control might slip, but he did now. He knew he wasn't about to ravish Mrs. Hughes on the dining room table or anything of that sort, but there were a myriad of tiny ways he could slip up and cause all kinds of mischief. He might reveal too much of himself, he might embarrass one or both of them in the presence of others, or he might hurt her. Still, he had no intention of avoiding her. He could hardly evade her indefinitely, so there was no point in putting off the inevitable. He just needed to be very careful.

Mr. Carson entered the hall when it was time for the servants' dinner and his eyes flew to her at once. Mrs. Hughes was already in her place, but he only saw the back of her head when he first arrived, as she was talking to someone down the table. When she looked up at him and smiled, however, he thought that perhaps love did agree with him after all. He still felt agitated, and that rock remained in his stomach, but when he sat down beside her those things didn't seem to matter anymore. He loved her. It didn't matter whether or not she loved him or that he would be leaving Downton soon. There were still a million little ways he could love her without telling her his secret. Love was about being selfless, after all, and about caring more for the feelings of the other person than for one's own desires. If he set a goal for himself to show her a little every day between now and when he left Downton how lovely and brilliant she was, he might find some small measure of peace. It was something he could control and that would perhaps ease some of his vexation at the impediment that he himself had placed between them. He invited her to have a chat and some wine with him a little later, and she accepted with a smile.

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Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had shared leftover wine or drunk tea together many times over the last twenty years, but Mr. Carson had never felt so nervous. It was foolishness. He did not like being unable to control his nerves. He hoped with time he would be more himself. _With time, or with distance,_ he thought grimly. Without her he could perhaps be more himself than he was in his current state, but he would never again be fully himself once he was separated from her. Once again he was faced with a problem that had no solution. He might only be cured of this restlessness by leaving her, but the cure, in this case, was worse than the disease.

Mrs. Hughes knocked on his pantry door and entered without waiting for a response. She greeted Mr. Carson and sat down, waiting for him to hand her a glass. Once again, her presence soothed, but did not eliminate, his inner turmoil. The agitation did not leave him, but it eased a bit, and it felt less torturous, more pleasurable. As he fetched two glasses and the decanter of wine, he watched her. She seemed to emit a sort of radiant energy that only he could absorb, and he felt close to delirium. His logical mind ridiculed this high-flown, romantic language, but his emotional mind was in control at the moment. And it was the truth. It was no exaggeration to say that Mrs. Hughes was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, and then poured his own glass and took the seat facing hers. When she gave him a small smile, he smiled back, thankful that he was seated firmly in his chair. He might have toppled over otherwise. _Good God,_ he thought. _This has to stop. Speak to her. Say something mundane. Anything to end this madness._

"I thought the ceremony this morning was very nice," Mrs. Hughes said thoughtfully. "Solemn, but hopeful."

He nodded, beginning to feel calmer. "An excellent description," he agreed. "What a relief that it's all finally over."

Mrs. Hughes took a sip of her wine and nodded, but did not speak. Her forehead wrinkled slightly and she bit her lip, looking down at the floor. He knew her well enough to see that she was attempting to conceal some strong emotion.

"Something is distressing you, Mrs. Hughes," he said gently. "Will you not tell me what it is?"

Tears glistened in her eyes, but none of them fell. "It's William, Mr. Carson," she sighed. "Out of all of the dreadful things the war brought about, the poor lad's death still affects me more than any of them. Trenches filled with dead and wounded men have no meaning to me, but William…"

"He was very dear to you, I think," Mr. Carson said.

"He was," she agreed. "But what does it mean that I should care so little for many thousands of other young men whose lives were lost?"

Mrs. Hughes was clearly troubled and in need of comfort, which, oddly enough, made him feel more at ease. Her question resonated within Mr. Carson's mind. Just as she was disconcerted by her lack of feeling for thousands of other people's dead sons, Mr. Carson was disquieted by the knowledge that her suffering made him more comfortable. But he knew it was because sympathy and reassurance were things he could give her freely; consoling her was one of the ways he could quietly love her.

"I think you care very much, Mrs. Hughes. The simple fact that you are concerned about it at all means that you are a kind woman."

She looked up at him, a grateful expression crossing her face. "I hope you're right," she said.

"I know I am," he said, giving her a little smile. "And remember that those other young men also had mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, and perhaps even housekeepers, to love them and to worry over them and to mourn them when they were gone."

She smiled at this and seemed to relax. It was a small, regretful smile, but it was real, and Mr. Carson was glad. He knew that she would feel the pang of losing William for quite some time, but it meant something to him that he could make her smile.

_To be continued..._

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	4. Warmth and Silence

**A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews and support. I appreciate them a great deal and they keep me going, both in writing and in life.**

Mrs. Hughes shivered a bit as she hurried down the corridor, hoping she would find her sitting room warmer today than it had been at this time yesterday. Almost every day for the last week she had come to her sitting room, only to find the door wide open, all of the heat from the fire roaring in the grate having dissipated. It seemed that at least one of the hall boys assigned to tend the fires downstairs did not grasp the importance of closing the door when he left. As Mrs. Hughes approached her sitting room, she was glad to see that the door was closed, just as she had left it. Perhaps Mr. Carson had put the fear of God into the boys after she had complained to him yesterday that she could hardly be expected to keep accurate household accounts when her hands were numb from cold. She'd been in quite a temper and had spoken to him more sharply than he deserved, but a week of spending several hours a day sitting at her desk with her teeth chattering had made her irritable. Upon finding her door open again yesterday, she had gone to his pantry and suggested testily that he get his boys under control or she would do it for him, but his look of surprise at her sudden tirade had calmed her down and she apologized. Mr. Carson had not left her door open personally, after all.

Mrs. Hughes breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into her sitting room. It was warm, thank heaven, which meant she could hope to catch up on some paperwork without her fingers turning blue. She was about to open the cupboard where she kept an extra woollen shawl, when she noticed that the shawl was already draped neatly over the back of the chair at her desk. She didn't remember leaving it there the day before, but she supposed she must have done. She wrapped it around her shoulders and sat down to work. Several hours later there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Mrs. Hughes called out, turning from her work.

Mrs. Patmore entered the room and closed the door behind her. "Your room's nearly as warm as the kitchen, Mrs. Hughes," she said. "Which is just as I expected, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Carson had most of the hall boys in his pantry first thing this morning for a sermon on closing the housekeeper's door after building up the fire in her room."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Oh dear," she said. "I hope it wasn't too terrifying for them. I'm afraid I gave Mr. Carson a sermon yesterday on the subject of keeping the boys in order."

Mrs. Patmore chuckled. "Oh, I'd say it was pretty terrifying," she said, sitting down. "I think most of them had blisters on their ears when he had done with them."

Mrs. Hughes laughed quietly. "Well, I daresay they won't forget to close my door again."

"Oh, I daresay not!"

"I don't think anyone can ring a peal over some poor soul quite like Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said.

"No, I don't think so," Mrs. Patmore answered. "Except maybe you, and sometimes over Mr. Carson!"

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "The poor man. I imagine sometimes he wishes for the London housekeeper here. I understand she's quite mild-tempered."

Mrs. Patmore shook her head. "No, Mrs. Hughes," she said. "Mr. Carson has strange ways of showing it, but I think he'd take you over Mrs. Winters any day, mild-tempered or no."

"I hope so," Mrs. Hughes said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't like to think I made his life difficult. Gruff and severe he may be, but he's a good man."

"He is," Mrs. Patmore said, looking gloomy. "He'll be very much missed."

"Yes," Mrs. Hughes said softly, turning back to the work on her desk, trying to hide the emotion she was sure must be written across her face.

Mrs. Patmore looked at the housekeeper for a moment and then stood up. "Well, Mrs. Hughes, I've forgotten what I came here to ask you, so I'll let you get back to your work now." Mrs. Hughes did not turn around or speak. She couldn't. Mrs. Patmore seemed to understand and slipped quietly through the door, closing it behind her.

#####

"Thank you for keeping my sitting room warm, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said, a few evenings later, as she sipped wine with him his pantry.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Mrs. Patmore told me she heard you reprimanding your boys the other morning about closing my door after building up the fire."

"Well, I'm glad to hear they've taken my advice."

"Yes, they have," she said, smiling at him. "I think one of my maids must have heard your lecture as well."

"Why do you say that?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Every evening I put away my shawl in my sitting room cupboard, and every morning I find it hanging neatly over the back of my chair."

He chuckled, his lips twisting into a little grin. "Perhaps you need to give your maids a dressing-down as well, if they are handling your things without your permission. Can you not keep control of your girls, Mrs. Hughes?" he teased lightly.

She laughed at this. "I don't think they need a lecture. Not when they are helping to keep me warm. Nothing else is amiss in my room, so I'll let them be. The moment I find something out of place, though, I'll take your advice."

He looked at her, smiling in the lamplight, and was struck again by the exquisite pain of loving her. It had been several weeks since he had discovered that he loved her, and he felt a little more himself than he had at first, but he suspected that some of the strange physical sensations he experienced would never leave him.

"Well, I think I'll go up now, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said, setting down her empty glass and rising from her chair. He stood as well and walked with her to the door.

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes," he said.

She looked up at him to wish him a good night, but the words got caught in her throat. He was looking at her so intently, and he was so close. Her breathing grew shallow and she licked her lips nervously. Mr. Carson moved imperceptibly closer. He started to reach out to her - for her wrist, her arm, her hip, she did not know - but he forced his hand to return to his side and stepped back.

"Good night, Mr. Carson," she whispered. She stayed where she was for a few seconds longer, wishing he would draw near again, but knowing that he would not. Then she gave a little smile, turned away, and made her way down the corridor.

Mr. Carson closed the door and sank into a chair, putting his head in his hands. He wondered what he could have possibly been thinking. He had very nearly kissed her, right there in the doorway. He had wanted to and, in those few eternal seconds when he looked so deeply into her eyes, he had been sure that she wanted him to. He raised his head and looked at the empty chair she had just been sitting in. Now that she was gone, he could tell himself that he had imagined it because he wished it, that it was an illusion created by his love-fogged mind. Even so, it made him wonder. Was it possible that she loved him? Could she have really wanted him to kiss her? If some quiet evening he let his hand wander to her hip and lowered his lips to touch hers, would she push him away or would she allow it, perhaps even returning his touch with a hand to his chest? He shook his head, trying to discard these fantasies. It didn't matter if she loved him, wanted him. He was leaving Downton. This sobering thought was enough to finish convincing him that he really _had_ imagined that flicker of love and desire he thought he had seen in her eyes. Nothing,_ nothing_, could change the fact that he was leaving. He would have to hold himself apart from her, never get close enough to be tempted as he had been tonight. Mr. Carson had experienced disappointment, grief, physical pain, and any number of other injuries, but nothing compared to this new kind of agony. It was terrible enough being in love and knowing he must leave her, but the hint he could not quite dismiss that she returned his feelings made it worse, rather than better. But what could he do? He must continue as he was, trying to love her without showing it. It grew more difficult by the day, but he would do it. He wished that Lady Mary and Sir Richard would set a date for their wedding, so this madness would at least no longer be indefinite. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

#####

Mrs. Hughes automatically went through the familiar motions of undressing and then dressing for bed. Her heart was too full for her to think of anything but Mr. Carson. He had almost kissed her. She had seen in his eyes that he had wanted to, but then he had pulled back from her. What had astonished her more than that aborted kiss was the love she thought she had glimpsed in his eyes. He loved her; she was almost certain. She sat on her bed in her nightgown, feeling bewildered more than anything else. She could usually read him like a book, but this had taken her by surprise. Her mind told her she should feel something, but she was so overpowered she wasn't sure how she felt. It was cold, so she slipped under the covers of her bed, but she could not sleep, and instead lay awake, staring unseeing at the ceiling, trying to sort it all out in her mind. He loved and wanted her, as she loved and wanted him. But he was leaving Downton. That was why he had held back in the end.

Mrs. Hughes could at least identify one of her feelings. She shed a few tears at the knowledge that she was losing him to Lady Mary, that Mr. Carson's affection for the girl had won out over whatever he felt for her. Mrs. Hughes had never liked Lady Mary much, but she would never have imagined feeling jealous of a woman at least twenty years younger than she. They both wanted the same man, though for different reasons. She could hardly be angry at Lady Mary and she couldn't find it in herself even to be very angry at Mr. Carson, though he was the one who had made the decision in the end. She found herself wishing for some great magic to come over Downton and solve the romantic problems of all of its residents. Lady Mary would break whatever strange hold Sir Richard seemed to have on her, Mr. Crawley would be healed of his injury and break amicably with Miss Swire, and the two young fools who so obviously loved each other would marry. And most importantly, Mr. Carson would not leave her. Her fairy-tale fantasy ended there, though. What kind of understanding would she and Mr. Carson come to? What could she ask of him that he would be willing to give? It seemed unlikely that he would leave the Crawleys, and she doubted the family would approve if… Well there was no point in thinking about it. Mr. Carson had made his decision and she could do nothing to change it. At last, she was drained of the energy to think any further on the subject and she fell asleep.

#####

Mrs. Hughes awoke much earlier than usual the next morning and did not even try to go back to sleep, but instead dressed and went downstairs. She turned the corner to walk toward her sitting room, but quickly backed up and hid herself when she saw Mr. Carson enter her sitting room with the things for making up a fire. What was he doing? She waited. A few minutes later he came back out and set down his burdens in an alcove for the hall boy to fetch away later. He wiped his hands on a rag to rid himself of the dust, and then suddenly hurried to his pantry, as though he had just remembered something important. A few seconds later he headed back to Mrs. Hughes's sitting room with something in his hands. It was her shawl. She was beginning to understand.

Once he went back to his pantry and closed the door behind him, Mrs. Hughes ventured into the corridor and entered her sitting room. The fire had just been made, so it was not very warm yet, but her shawl, as usual, was folded neatly over the back of her chair. When she picked it up and wrapped it around her shoulders, she noticed its fresh scent. Mr. Carson must have had it laundered for her. Any uncertainty Mrs. Hughes might have felt about whether or not he loved her vanished with the knowledge that he had been making her fire every morning and setting her shawl out for her. He was letting the hall boys and the maids take credit for the comfort he himself was giving her. For just a few moments, sitting in the chair at her desk, she felt embraced, not by a man's earthly arms, but by his warm and quiet love. She loved him even more now than she had before. Mrs. Hughes knew that no matter what all of this dreadful restraint wrought on them, she could not keep on as she was. She must do something for him as well. If he would leave her, she would love him while she could, in whatever ways he would allow.

_To be continued..._


	5. Looks and Service

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Mr. Carson would have liked to let the door slam behind him as he entered the house after dealing with the wine delivery, but he did not wish to set a poor example for the other staff. The driver had been several hours late, and the order had been completely wrong. He had a desk full of papers that needed his attention and a number of other things to tend to in different parts of the house, all before dinner. He wasn't sure how he would manage it. He was opening the door to his pantry when Mrs. Hughes appeared in the corridor.

"The wine delivery was late today, I see," she said, approaching him.

Mr. Carson heaved an exasperated sigh. "Late and all wrong," he said, shaking his head. He let himself into his pantry and Mrs. Hughes followed him in.

"Oh dear," she said. "I'm sorry your day has been so taken up with that. But you will catch up on the rest of your work by dinnertime, I daresay." It was a statement, but she looked at him with a question in her eyes.

Mr. Carson sat down in the chair at his desk. "I'm not so sure, Mrs. Hughes. I likely have more things on my list than I can complete in the time I have. Her ladyship asked me to-"

"That's already taken care of," Mrs. Hughes interrupted briskly.

"What?" Mr. Carson said, perplexed. "How did you-"

"You mentioned it at breakfast," she answered. "Some of the maids and Mr. Molesley took care of it."

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He was surprised and not sure what else to say.

"Is there anything else I can help with?" she asked, feeling pleased and a bit amused by his befuddlement.

"I don't think so," Mr. Carson said. "There's the silver to polish, of course, and the lot of my afternoon chores, but they're all things I must do myself."

"You don't think you're the only person who can polish silver, do you?" Mrs. Hughes teased.

He drew his brows together. "Mr. Molesley must have very little to do at Crawley House if he has the time to do all of this."

"I suppose there isn't a great deal to be done there with Mr. Matthew staying here at Downton," she answered. "And I doubt Mrs. Crawley demands much of him."

"I suppose not," he said thoughtfully. "Well, thank you for arranging everything, Mrs. Hughes. It takes a weight off of my mind."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Carson," she said, smiling, and left the room. Mr. Carson looked at the empty doorway for some time after she was gone.

#####

Mr. Carson found himself watching Mrs. Hughes at breakfast the next morning. He tried not to stare, tried not to look any more than was necessary for friendly conversation, but his eyes were often drawn back to her in spite of his best efforts. She was an active woman, though not fidgety, but even when she was sitting still her face seemed always in motion, and he found it fascinating. He did not know what all of her expressions meant, but he liked to watch them all the same. Even so, he knew he needed to restrain himself better than he was doing or the others would begin to notice how frequently his gaze fell on her. _She_ might notice it as well, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. She had already caught him staring once, and though she turned away quickly and said nothing, he did not miss the faint blush that rose from the collar of her dress up to her face. If he kept it up, he might really embarrass her, and he had no wish to do that. He managed to drag his eyes away from her and back to his breakfast. The bells would start ringing soon, so he needed to finish eating.

Mrs. Hughes noticed more than Mr. Carson knew. She could feel his eyes on her not only when she caught him staring, but every time he looked at her, whether she could see him or not. It was a thrilling feeling to know that he could not keep his eyes from her for long. She had never thought to have such a feeling again, once she was entrusted with the keys of Downton Abbey. A man might look twice at a housemaid, but not at a housekeeper. A housekeeper was stern, severe, always dressed in black, and most importantly, unmarried for the rest of her days and never an object of attraction to any man, at least until now. Mr. Carson was not deterred by her sternness or her dark wardrobe. He knew the life of a housekeeper, because it resembled the life of a butler very closely. He knew _her_, as well, in quiet moments when she was not severe, but simply herself. Mrs. Hughes wondered what he was thinking when he stared at her. Did he think her pretty? Did he wish, as she did, that somehow things could be different, that they could be together? Was he thinking anything at all? His face was inscrutable when she searched it for signs of the answers to those questions. She both wished and feared that Mr. Carson would look at her again as he had that one night in the doorway of his pantry, when he had almost kissed her. But she wanted something she could not have, and repeating that evening's experience would only make things more difficult when the inevitable parting occurred. Mrs. Hughes was flustered when she realize that now _she_ was staring at _him,_ and that he had caught her. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second before they both looked away.

The first bell rang, followed closely by several others. Mr. Carson rose from his chair, though none of the bells required his attendance. He gave Mrs. Hughes a parting smile and made his way to the pantry.

"Mr. Molesley! What are you doing here?" Mr. Carson said a little irritably, upon seeing the man in the corridor.

"I've just dropped in to see if I can be of any help today," Mr. Molesley answered.

"Mr. Molesley, I must thank you for your assistance yesterday," Mr. Carson said, in a slightly more friendly tone. "You did a great deal to lighten my load."

"You're welcome, Mr. Carson," Mr. Molesley said. "I'd just popped in for a cup of tea and was happy to help when Mrs. Hughes asked."

"Well, I very much appreciate it. Your work was a significant contribution that did not go unnoticed."

Mr. Molesley looked a little surprised. "It wasn't much, just helping the maids move a bit of furniture around. I wish I could have done more, but Mrs. Crawley was expecting me back."

"And what about the silver?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Oh, do you need some help with the silver today, Mr. Carson? I can spare an hour or two if I'm needed."

Mr. Carson looked a little perplexed. He refused Mr. Molesley's offer, with a wave of his hand, his mind wandering elsewhere. "No thank you, Mr. Molesley. That won't be necessary. But I must be getting on. Good day to you."

"Good day to you, Mr. Carson."

The two men parted and Mr. Carson made his way to the pantry, deep in thought. He unlocked the silver cabinet and looked around. Everything seemed to be in place. He would need to question Mrs. Hughes later about who had polished the silver. He did not think there was anything wrong in it, and she would not have allowed someone untrustworthy to handle the silver, but he wanted to know who it was.

Mr. Carson took out some polishing cloths and the silver polish and pulled out a few candlesticks that needed some work. He found the heavy black sleeves that he used to protect his white shirt while he polished and pulled one of them onto his left arm, but when he went to don the other, his arm would not fit through it. He drew his brows together as he inspected it and before long he discovered the problem. A pin had been used to make the opening smaller, presumably for a smaller arm than his. Mr. Carson removed the pin thoughtfully. It must have been accidentally left behind. Mrs. Hughes had polished the silver herself, he was sure of it. A smile slowly spread across his face at the thought of her here in his pantry, swathed in his large green apron, the protective black sleeves likely almost up to her shoulders. Mr. Carson almost went looking for her, to ask her why she had done such a thing, but he stopped himself. Had he not been secretly lighting the fire in her sitting room every morning since early December, and laying out her shawl so that she would be warm when it was frigid outside? Perhaps instead of speaking of it, he would find some other secret way to make her life easier.

And so he did. Mr. Carson made a point of tidying up Mrs. Hughes's desk when he was in her sitting room building the fire. Her papers and ledgers were already very neatly stacked, so he made sure her pens were always filled with ink and her pencils sharpened. Within a few days Mr. Carson noticed that his own desk was looking neater. It was larger than Mrs. Hughes's desk, and though he kept it fairly neat, there were times when he had a great deal of paper on it. She sorted all of his papers, grouping them together in ways that made good sense to him, and made sure they were always stacked neatly. His own pens and pencils were also very well-kept; he never had to refill or sharpen them.

They continued on this way as December passed, each doing little things to help each other. From decades spent in service they had each learned to anticipate another's needs, and to be invisible. This development was rather a relief from the heartache they were both suffering. It was nice to wonder what little surprise they would find each day. The smiles and looks they exchanged were no less charged with the same restraint and love as always, but they were both able to relax a little, knowing that although they could never speak of it, they _were_ able to acknowledge their love silently.

#####

Mrs. Hughes stood in the hall, looking at the enormous Christmas tree that was so beautifully decorated. Downton Abbey was quite magical during the Christmas season, and the tree was her favorite part of the enchantment. Once the gardeners and footmen had brought the tree in and set it upright, the maids and the Crawley sisters had worked together to hang all of the ornaments. Mrs. Hughes always checked on the maids while they carried out this particular task, but she had a purpose aside of supervising her girls. There were boxes and boxes filled with ornaments, all neatly wrapped in tissue, but every year she did her best to find her favorite of the lot and hang it on the tree herself. It was a funny little figure of a man in a kilt. The tartan belonged to the MacClare family, cousins of Lord Grantham, but it reminded Mrs. Hughes of her childhood in Scotland. She had been happy in England for many years, and was not homesick, but she liked to think back to those carefree years in Argyll. Although a farmer's daughter had to work hard, she had a little time to play as well. There were happy times and melancholy times, but though she had left that life behind, she felt it was a life well-lived. She did not yearn for her homeland, but she was proud of it. Mrs. Hughes thought it a bit odd, in a way, that the tartan of some aristocratic clan in another part of Scotland should remind her of her life on the farm in Argyll, but it did. She always hung the ornament at the level of her eyes, where she could see it anytime she walked past the tree.

It was Christmas Eve. The hall was deserted and Mrs. Hughes looked again at the funny little man in a kilt that she had placed on the tree herself just a few days ago. She touched the figure's booted feet, smiling at her memories.

"That one is your favorite, isn't it?" Mr. Carson said, suddenly appearing at her side.

"It is," she answered.

"Do you miss Scotland?" Mr. Carson asked.

She tilted her head to one side. "Maybe a little. But I've been very happy in England." She looked up at him and their eyes met. The air around them seemed to change as they regarded one another seriously. Mr. Carson did not move closer or reach out for her. It was a moment for sharing a look, rather than a touch. She could not say the words, but she willed him to understand from her eyes that he had been one of the reasons for her happiness in England. She had been content in other houses before she came to Downton, but it was here that she had felt at home for the first time since leaving Argyll. She had thought Mr. Carson rather a stick-in-the-mud when she first arrived, but she learned soon enough that although he was certainly a traditionalist, he was a good man, and a kind one. Even before she loved him, she felt comforted by his presence.

Mr. Carson was the one to turn away first. Mrs. Hughes's eyes stayed on him for a few moments, studying his profile, before she turned back to the tree.

"Mrs. Hughes, I wonder if you'd like to have a glass of wine with me tomorrow evening," Mr. Carson said. "I've a gift for you this Christmas."

She smiled. "I'd like that very much. I've a gift for you as well."

"I shall look forward to it," he said. "But I think I should be getting on now. There's always something to be done."

"Indeed there is," Mrs. Hughes answered. "I must go as well and make sure my maids are in order."

Mr. Carson nodded and walked toward the drawing room. Mrs. Hughes headed for the stairs to complete her rounds.

_To be continued..._

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	6. Boxing Day

Mrs. Hughes stood in her darkened sitting room, fingering the ribbon on a neatly wrapped package that lay on her desk. Christmas had come and gone without the glass of wine and gift exchange that she and Mr. Carson had planned. On Christmas morning, Mrs. Patmore had been suddenly taken ill with a cold and, though she was not_ very_ ill, she certainly could not stay at her post in the kitchen. One of the housemaids had also been in bed with a cold, but Mrs. Hughes had managed things as best she could, with Daisy as substitute cook and Jane as her helper. Jane was a godsend, really. She knew her way around a kitchen better than most housemaids, but didn't object to taking orders from Daisy. Mrs. Hughes didn't even mind that she wound up making quite a few beds herself, but it meant that, aside from sitting down for meals, she was on her feet from dawn to midnight. She hadn't the time or energy for the tête-a-tête she had looked forward to since the day before, so she and Mr. Carson agreed to postpone it until Boxing Day. Now that the time had come, Mrs. Hughes felt some apprehension, though she wasn't quite sure why. She picked up the package and made her way from her sitting room to Mr. Carson's pantry, where the light spilling out from under his door signified his presence. She knocked and entered.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said, gesturing for her to sit in her usual chair. "I hope you're recovered from yesterday's excitement."

"I am, thank you," she answered, sitting down and letting him pour the wine, holding his wrapped gift in her lap. "Of all the days to have such a thing happen, Mrs. Patmore and Lucy _would_ both be ill on Christmas Day. I don't say it's anyone's fault, of course, but it certainly did make for an interesting day."

"Indeed," Mr. Carson said, handing her a glass of wine. He poured his own glass and sat down with it. "I would have sent one or two of the hall boys up to make some beds if I thought they would have been more help than hindrance, but I'm afraid they would have been quite useless to you."

Mrs. Hughes laughed, then lifted her glass. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson."

He smiled and lifted his glass in response. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes."

They drank, Mr. Carson's eyes on Mrs. Hughes and her eyes everywhere but on him. At last, however, when her glass was nearly drained, she faced him. She hesitated for a moment, then handed him the wrapped packaged she had brought with her.

"I told you I'd a gift for you," she said. "I hope you'll like it."

He took it from her and put down his glass so he could unwrap it. "_Treasure Island_!" he exclaimed with delight, thumbing gently through the pages of the handsomely bound book.

"I know it's your favorite, Mr. Carson, and once you've gone to Haxby you won't be able to borrow it from his lordship's library anytime you like."

Mr. Carson's smile faltered as his eyes moved from the book in his hands to the woman facing him, then back again. "Thank you," he said, running his finger down the spine of the volume. "This is a very valuable gift, Mrs. Hughes. I'm not sure you should have given me something so fine."

"I know it's valuable," she answered. "But this_ is_ our last Christmas together."

"Our last Christmas in the same house, perhaps," he said, looking at her very directly. "But we will still see one another. I do mean to keep my promise and have you for tea at Haxby whenever you can spare the time and I mean to visit Downton whenever_ I_ can spare the time."

"Very well," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "I shall expect a very fine gift from you next Christmas, Mr. Carson."

"Of course," he said, smiling. "But please do open this year's gift first."

Mrs. Hughes took the box he held out to her and unwrapped it. It contained two teacups and two saucers. "My goodness, these are beautiful!" she said, holding one of the cups in her hand and turning it around to study the flowers painted on it. "Thank you."

"For now you may keep them in your sitting room, but at some point I will take them back from you," Mr. Carson said, watching Mrs. Hughes to see how she reacted.

She looked up at him, surprised and perplexed. "What do you mean you'll take them back?"

"Those cups are specially reserved for when you and I drink tea together. When I go to Haxby, I will take them with me and keep them in a safe place. They will only be taken out and used when you come to take tea with me."

Mrs. Hughes swallowed hard. She tried to smile, but she couldn't. "That sounds lovely," she said in a colorless voice. She was going to have to put an end to these meetings with Mr. Carson. She could see him every day, eat every meal next to him, and work at his side, but she did not think she could endure one more evening alone with him like this. She did not wish him gone from Downton any sooner than necessary, but the quiet intimacy of these conversations made the thought of his leaving nearly unbearable to her. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall.

Mr. Carson watched her face with some dismay. He hadn't meant to upset her, but she was clearly in distress. "Mrs. Hughes, are you quite well?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

She stood and, with some effort, composed herself enough to speak. "I am well, Mr. Carson," she said quietly. "Just a little more tired than I realized. I think I'll say good night now."

Mr. Carson did not argue, but walked to the door so he could open it for her. "Good night," she whispered as she walked past him and out the door without pausing or looking at him.

"Good night."

Mr. Carson watched her hurry down the corridor, but when she was out of sight he returned to his pantry and sat back down, finding himself once again opposite the empty chair Mrs. Hughes had occupied a few minutes earlier. She had taken his gift with her, but the red ribbon he had tied around the box was on the table next to her unfinished glass of wine. He took it between his fingers and looked at it. It had seemed rather an ordinary ribbon when he had tied it around the box a few days ago, but now that she had touched it, it was different, magical somehow._ She_ was magical. He wondered why everyone who ever looked at her didn't immediately see it. But he knew the answer to that. It was because not everyone who ever looked at her was in love with her. He loved her and he knew her, so he could see things no one else did. Even someone less observant, however, could have seen how troubled she had been just now. Lady Grantham, for example, had she come across Mrs. Hughes in her current state, likely would have told her to sit down and rung for tea or a glass of water. That led Mr. Carson to an important question. What would_ he_, who knew and loved her, do to relieve her unhappiness? He could not pretend he did not know what was wrong. Although they had never discussed it, he had known for some weeks that she loved him as he loved her, that she suffered the same pain he did at the thought of their separation. He had thought that assuring her that they would still see one another might ease her pain, but it seemed to have made it worse. There was only one way to go forward.

He would need a plan, but Mr. Carson knew he could never leave Mrs. Hughes now that he knew her heart as he did, and saw how much their impending separation pained her. It was almost hard for him to imagine that he had ever considered leaving Downton in the first place, but he knew his reasons well enough. He had been blind to his own affection until he had made the decision, and was uncertain of_ her_ affection for a little while after that. He could only thank heaven that he had made these discoveries before actually moving to Haxby. There was nothing done, at this point, that could not be undone. He had notified Lady Mary and Sir Richard that he would accept their offer, but though it would pain him to disappoint Lady Mary, he could and would break that agreement. He had given his notice to Lord Grantham, but that could very easily be withdrawn. Deciding what he would do after that would require a bit more thought, but he knew what his choices were. It remained only to determine which options were the most feasible and then to make his intentions clear to Mrs. Hughes and find out how she would prefer to proceed. One thing was certain, at least. He would not be leaving Downton Abbey.

_I will not leave her, and there's an end to it,_ he thought. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

_To be continued..._

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	7. January

When Mrs. Hughes came downstairs the next morning, Mr. Carson tried not to follow her every move with his eyes, as he knew had been his tendency recently. He was well aware that he didn't always read her well, but he could see that she felt a little more fragile than usual today. He wouldn't ignore her, but he would give her some room to breathe. He needed room himself, not to breathe as much as to think. He had been up most of the night thinking, but though he had eliminated some options, he had not yet come to a conclusion about what his course of action would be. Mrs. Hughes smiled wanly at Mr. Carson as they sat down to eat breakfast. He smiled back, studying her face. To everyone else she probably looked the same as she always did, but he could see that she was tired in body and mind. He wished he could tell her he was not going to leave Downton, but his plan was far too uncertain at the moment. He was not ready. He still had a number of things to work out.

A few things were quite definite. He loved Mrs. Hughes and he wanted to marry her. Even if he could not marry her he would never leave her. What was less definite was how he would move on from here. He meant to break his agreement with Lady Mary and Sir Richard and withdraw his notice from Lord Grantham so he could stay at Downton, though he wasn't sure how he would explain his reasons. More importantly, however, Mr. Carson did not know how he might best go about the business of marrying Mrs. Hughes. He still did not think the idea of a married butler quite proper, but his ideas on the subject had been changing rapidly of late, ever since the moment he realized that he would like to _be_ a married butler. The decision would not be his, of course, but Lord Grantham's. If it did not please the Crawleys to have a married butler, he was ready to leave Downton Abbey. He might retire to a cottage on the estate, or he might take what money he had saved and go with her elsewhere, to run a shop or a pub or something of that sort. They were both used to hard work and could certainly manage, even succeed. Of course, all of this assumed that Mrs. Hughes would have him. He did not doubt her affection, but he was uncertain whether she would want to marry him if it meant leaving the high position she had worked so hard to attain. She did not want him to go to Haxby, but perhaps she would be content to simply work at his side for the rest of her life. If that were the case, she might consider a long engagement, an agreement to marry once they were ready to retire together. Now that he had made his mind up to be hers and to have as much of her as she was willing to give, Mr. Carson did not much like the idea of waiting. There was something else he wanted from her, a dark, secret part of her that she would likely never surrender to him unless she were his wife. He was not yet beyond the age of being able to enjoy that hidden treasure, but if they put off marrying for some years it might be different. Really he just wanted_ all_ of her, and as soon as possible. It was a little amusing to him, in a sadly ironic way, that he had taken so many years to finally come to the point, but now he had the impatience of a very young man. He could only hope that Mrs. Hughes would feel a similar impatience once he confessed his feelings and told her he was prepared to do whatever it would take to be able to marry her.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was quite low for the rest of the day. She had expected breakfast to be a bit of a trial, but was surprised how long her melancholy mood lingered. She had awakened feeling drained of all energy, which at first she didn't understand, having done nothing after separating from Mr. Carson but shed a few tears and fall asleep. When she really thought about it, though, she realized just how much of her strength was sapped every day by the effort required to appear normal. Weeks of hiding her emotions, keeping her chin up, and trying not to contemplate the truth of a future without him had taken their toll and last night, in the vulnerable state she was always in when she was near him, she had reached her limit. He tried, with his gift and his kind eyes and kind words, to reassure her, and it was too much. For a moment she had wanted to give up and sink to the floor, weeping and wailing like a great tragedienne, but the very fact that she was despondent enough to have such an impulse had sobered her immediately and she got out of the room as quickly as she could. Mercifully, Mr. Carson had shown no indication at breakfast or later in the day that he would press her to talk about it. Those kind eyes lingered on her face with concern from time to time, but he did not speak of what had passed between them the evening before. As difficult as it would be to stop their cozy chats, Mrs. Hughes had decided to forego any further tête-a-tête with Mr. Carson. She would not avoid him or be unkind to him, but if he asked her to take tea or a glass of wine with him in his pantry of an evening, the answer must now and forever be "no."

In all of these musings and meanderings through her mind and heart, Mrs. Hughes had also run across a new emotion hidden among the others: anger. She tried to call it unfair and dismiss it, but now that she was struggling to maintain her equanimity, she wondered if this anger might be something to hold onto, something to help her survive the dark night of the next few months. She was angry at Mr. Carson for abandoning her. He was a free man. He had a choice and he had chosen Lady Mary. Mrs. Hughes would freely admit that she believed the earl's daughter did sincerely care about Mr. Carson's welfare, but she also knew that Lady Mary would take from him much more than she would ever give back. That was not the variety of love that a man as devoted as Mr. Carson deserved to receive. It might be as much love as the girl was able to give to anyone, but a heart like his had the capacity for giving and receiving so much more. Mrs. Hughes was angry at him for his sake as well as for her own. She was not overpowered by this anger, and it was mixed with feelings of tenderness and melancholy, but thinking about it made her feel a little more herself. She laughed at this as she sat at her desk that afternoon. How appropriate that the only thing that could restore some of her equilibrium was being angry at Mr. Carson. She wasn't sure what it said about her own character, but decided not to dwell on it.

#####

Over the next few weeks, a routine developed between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. After several days of having his evening invitations for a glass of wine or a cup of tea refused, Mr. Carson could see that both receiving and declining made her uncomfortable. He didn't stop asking altogether, but he let four or five days pass between invitations. That way she would not have to refuse him every day, but she would know her company was still sought, in case she ever changed her mind.

Mr. Carson still had not come to a satisfactory conclusion about the best way to proceed, except that he was beginning to think that the one person who might best advise him on his predicament was Mrs. Hughes herself. She was one of the cleverest people he knew. Likely his best course of action would be to confess his feelings to her, lay it all out before her, and ask for her thoughts. He had wanted to present it to her_ a fait accompli_, so that she would only have to answer "yes" or "no" and he would know how to go on. Knowing her, it was probably best not to go at it by that route, though. He was sure she would prefer to have some say in her own future, and he did not blame her.

He needed to find a way to be alone with her, but she kept refusing his invitations for tea and wine. She didn't want to be alone with him, but perhaps if he invited her to have some tea, at a time when some of the others would still be about, to discuss some particular business of the house, she would accept. Then if he could set her more at ease, she might accept another invitation to chat when the others had gone to bed. He did not wish to make her uncomfortable, but he had to find some way of speaking privately to her or they would never move forward. He could write her a letter, but he didn't think it would come to that. If he told her straight out that there was something important he wished to discuss with her alone, he didn't think she would refuse. Mr. Carson was serving drinks after dinner one evening when Lady Grantham asked him to relay a message to Mrs. Hughes. His opportunity had come.

#####

Mrs. Hughes had checked her morning's work and put away her ledgers. She was tired, but satisfied with her day. She had done everything she needed to do and tried, as usual, to keep Mr. Carson out of trouble. She had managed a few footman's tasks out of his sight, and of course she had refilled his pens. She had been a little clumsy today and spilled a bit of the ink on her hand and sleeve. It was one of the days when she was glad of her sober wardrobe; no one would notice black ink on black taffeta. Mrs. Hughes was studying her stained palm and fingertips when Mr. Carson appeared in her sitting room doorway.

"Mrs. Hughes, I wonder if I might have a word?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, smiling. "What is it?"

Mr. Carson hesitated. "Won't you come to my pantry?" he asked. "I've just made tea. You're welcome to join me." Mrs. Hughes looked down at her hands, now clasped in her lap, and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Her ladyship asked me to give you a message, something about Mrs. Bryant."

Mrs. Hughes looked up quickly. "Mrs. Bryant!"

Mr. Carson stepped out into the corridor and gestured for her to follow. "Why don't you come for a cup of tea, just for a few minutes? I can tell you what her ladyship said and we can have a bit of a chat. I'm sure the bells will start ringing again soon, so it might be best if we hurry." He gave her a friendly smile.

Mrs. Hughes relaxed and, after a pause, acquiesced. "Very well, I'll come with you." She rose from her chair and followed Mr. Carson to his pantry. It had been three weeks since they were last alone together, and she had missed their conversations. Ideally, they could spend a minute or two on Lady Grantham's message and a few minutes having a little catch-up, and then Anna or Jane or some other member of staff would come to the door in need of one of them and she could safely leave him. Most of the time she deplored these interruptions, but at a moment like this such an intrusion would serve her needs perfectly. Mrs. Hughes took her usual seat and settled in with her cup of tea.

_To be continued..._


	8. An Open Door

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**

"How are things over at Haxby?" Mrs. Hughes ventured.

Mr. Carson answered casually, but he watched her very carefully. He had missed her. He still saw her all the time, but there was something different about the way she looked when they sat alone together. Likely it was just the placement of the lamps in his pantry, but she was beautiful and he could not keep his eyes from tracing every contour and detail of her face. There were the fine lines she had earned with her years on the earth and the wrinkles that appeared on her forehead when she gave him that skeptical eye, as well as the way her chin creased when she smiled. And he thought he could study the shape of her eyebrows, the tilt of her head, and the sparkle in her eye for hours, given the chance.

Mrs. Hughes was worried about his happiness at Haxby, she said, and Mr. Carson wanted to stop her and kiss her right then. He held his peace, however. The door was open, and someone could walk in at any moment, so he answered her question. "If you're asking whether I'll regret leaving Downton, I will regret it every minute of every day." Mr. Carson looked deeply into her eyes, trying to make her understand how much he loved her, and that if he _were_ still planning to leave this place, it was leaving _her_ that he would regret more than anything else. "I thought I would die here, and haunt it ever after."

"Well, then!" He could see from her expression that Mrs. Hughes did not understand why this was insufficient motivation for him to call off his move to Haxby.

Mr. Carson hesitated before saying what he would have said, and meant, before Christmas. "You see, I think I can help her in those early years when it's important to get it right. And if I _can_ help her, I must."

#####

If Mrs. Hughes had held any small hope that Mr. Carson would change his mind about leaving Downton, his words destroyed it. "You see, I think I can help her in those early years when it's important to get it right. And if I _can_ help her, I must."

"I wish I could understand," she said. "To me, Lady Mary is an uppity minx who's the author of her own misfortunes." Mrs. Hughes knew it wasn't at all helpful to tell him once again just what she thought of Lady Mary, but she had to admit that she really was angry at him. She ought rather to have told him what she thought of _him_. Somehow, though, when he argued that she would feel differently if she had known Lady Mary as a child, Mrs. Hughes found herself softening toward him again. She allowed herself the pleasure of watching and listening to him as he told the story of a young Lady Mary asking him for silver to sell. She did love to see him like this, relaxed and smiling. She even loved him for cherishing those memories of the child he had watched grow into a woman. It was not five-year-old Lady Mary who had earned her dislike, after all, and she could listen to his sweet reminiscences with pleasure. Even at five years old, the girl had been a strong character, demanding that Mr. Carson charge her interest for sixpence of his that she'd spent.

"And did you?" Mrs. Hughes asked, curious.

"She gave me a kiss in full payment," he answered, smiling.

"Then she had the better bargain," she said in a low tone and with a fond smile at Mr. Carson. It was hard to tell in the lamplight, but she thought he might be blushing slightly, and it took him a moment to answer.

"I wouldn't say that," he finally said softly.

It was here that the customary intrusion took place. Heels clicked on the tile of the corridor and Anna appeared in the open doorway. "There you are, Mrs. Hughes," she said. "They said you were in here. Might I have a word?"

Mrs. Hughes sighed. A few minutes ago she had prayed that such an interruption would give her an excuse to escape from being too long alone with Mr. Carson, but now she was sorry for it. She had been enjoying their conversation; it had not been as painful as she had anticipated. "Of course," she said, resigned. "Shall we go to my room?" Mrs. Hughes set down her tea cup, ready to rise from her chair.

Anna shook her head. "There's no reason Mr. Carson shouldn't hear it. In fact, I think he probably should. You see, I've had a request from Sir Richard that you ought to know about."

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes shared a puzzled glance before they looked back at Anna expectantly. What on earth could Sir Richard ask for that they both needed to know about?

"Sir Richard caught me in the corridor earlier and asked me to come into his room."

"What?" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "I hope you sent him about his business!" Anna squirmed a bit.

"Do let Anna tell the story, please, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes scolded lightly. "If she's done anything she shouldn't you may be sure I will undertake her discipline myself."

"I didn't want to go in, Mrs. Hughes, but I didn't see how it could be avoided," Anna said, her brow furrowed. "I don't know Sir Richard very well, but I did think Lady Mary quite intelligent enough to choose a husband who wouldn't try to do anything… insulting... against me."

"Well, you don't seem very upset, Anna, so I presume it was nothing as bad as that."

"No," Anna said hesitatingly. "Not as bad as _that_, but... pretty bad."

Mrs. Hughes was alarmed. "My goodness, girl, what did he say to you? Now you've got me worried. Are you all right?"

Anna smiled a little. "I'm just fine, Mrs. Hughes," she assured her. "He's not said or done anything against me."

"Well, out with it, Anna!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. This time Mrs. Hughes did not scold him. She was equally impatient to hear the end of the story.

"Sir Richard asked me to spy on Lady Mary," Anna stated simply.

"Spy on her? How?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"He wanted me to report to him about everything she did: where she went, whom she was with, what she said, and I suppose anything else I could find out. He said he'd pay me to do it." Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were both speechless. Anna might have found it amusing that she had silenced them both at once if she were not still so disgusted by Sir Richard's proposition. "I told him no, of course, that I didn't have the time, though even had I the time I wouldn't have accepted such an offer. But that's it; that's the whole story. Is there anything I should do, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes shook herself. "No, Anna, there's nothing else, aside of keeping this to yourself. Mr. Carson and I will decide if anything else needs to be done. If you wish to share it with Lady Mary, of course you may, since it concerns her so nearly."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes." Just as quickly as she had come, Anna was gone, and they were alone again.

"Mr. Carson," she began. He had long been silent, and she wondered how this news was affecting him. If Lady Mary still meant to go through with this marriage to Sir Richard, she could certainly do with a protector. Mr. Carson would have his hands full. She was trying to decide whether to prod him further or to leave him to his thoughts when he spoke himself.

"Close the door, Mrs. Hughes."

#####

Mr. Carson's feelings were divided between relief and disappointment. He was relieved that Sir Richard had provided him a reason to renege on his agreement to work at Haxby without bringing Mrs. Hughes's name into the conversation, but also oddly disappointed that he would not be able to show Mrs. Hughes that he was willing to give Lady Mary up for her. Well, there was no help for it. He would have to find other ways of showing her that she meant more to him than any other person in the world. He looked up to find her watching him as he paced the room. She was leaning back against the inside of the closed pantry door, following him with eyes full of concern and sympathy.

"It looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Mr. Carson," she said gently.

"What do you mean?" Mr. Carson asked.

"You'll be well placed at Haxby to protect poor Lady Mary from her husband."

"I won't be at Haxby," he said vehemently. "I won't be leaving Downton."

Mrs. Hughes stood looking back at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "Do you mean that, Mr. Carson?"

"I could never work for a man like that," he said disdainfully. She began to tremble and tears started gathering in her eyes. Mr. Carson noticed her agitation. "Are you quite well, Mrs. Hughes?" he said softly.

She swallowed hard, trying to contain her emotions, but in the end she could not keep the tears from spilling over, or hold back the glowing smile that crossed her face. "I am now," she whispered, meeting Mr. Carson's gaze.

The air was full of so many unspoken thoughts as he smiled and approached her. Any number of times over the last few months they had stood like this and he had almost reached for her, but had always stopped himself. Tonight, however, he took one of her shaking hands and kissed the back of it, before holding it between both of his own. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as he took one step closer, then another, until their toes were nearly touching. Mrs. Hughes knew what was coming now, and believed that at last it would really happen, that he would finally follow through. Before he could, though, she heard and felt the sharp rap on the door at her back.

"Mr. Carson? Mr. Carson!" Anna was calling.

The spell was broken. Mr. Carson stepped away from Mrs. Hughes, who held her eyes and mouth tightly shut for a moment before sighing in resignation. The next time she was alone with him, she'd do better not only to close the door, but to lock it as well.

#####

Mrs. Hughes wasn't able to go directly to bed upon leaving Mr. Carson's pantry after Anna's second visit, although she certainly wanted to. She felt rather unbalanced after the evening she'd had, and with no other opportunities arising for her to be alone with Mr. Carson, she found herself stricken by the odd impulse to drag Anna into her sitting room for the dressing-down of her life. In reality, she could not fairly be angry with the girl, for had it not been for the news she had brought on her first intrusion, there would not have been a kiss to be prevented by her second. Mrs. Hughes hoped she would feel calmer in the morning. She had an inkling she might get very little sleep tonight. As she changed into her nightclothes, she forced herself to slow down, and her movements at last relaxed a little. When she laid down and pulled the blanket over her body, she was able to lie still, though she was wide awake.

Not for the first time in recent months, Mrs. Hughes lay staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her irrational anger at Anna was abating and a different sort of agitation flowed in to take its place. Relief was not normally a turbulent emotion, but this relief was so overpowering, and the turmoil it ended so fierce, that Mrs. Hughes began to wish again for anger. Anger she could control, but the relief washing over her at this moment was so intense that she could only hope to moderate its effects. Already she could feel wracking sobs welling up in her body. She did not attempt to hold back tears, but she did not wish to wear herself out or keep the house awake, so she forced her breath into a slow and even pattern and kept herself still. She allowed her heart, but not her body, to be overtaken by emotion. Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, onto her neck, and into her ears, and she didn't wipe them away. Her pillow was wet and she wept silently on, until the spasms slowed and finally ceased, and she fell into a dreamless slumber.

_To be continued..._

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